


An Understanding

by Jadealiya



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-07 18:40:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/751744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadealiya/pseuds/Jadealiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When things don't go according to plan, how do you get back to "normal?"</p>
<p>Set after "A Bitter Pill" and written for a fill on the DA kmeme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Understanding

The dinner hour came and went. The crowd at the Hanged Man followed its own cycles, sure as the tide, swelling as locals sought a hot meal and subsiding to a lull before the night owls came out of the woodwork.

It was comforting to Hawke, knowing what to expect from her favorite haunt, particularly when other elements in her life seemed so insistent on veering off path.

Another constant was the circle of regulars playing cards. Varric sat to Hawke’s left, frowning over his hand. “Getting late, Hawke. Doesn’t your mother expect you for dinner?”

Hawke reordered her cards, snorting softly. Her friend would take note of any deviation to her routine. “I’m avoiding my mother, Varric. I’ll take a cold supper over another of her attempts to play match maker.”

“Oh ho, what is it this time? Proper attire? Playing nice with the Launcet boy? Regular Chantry attendance and why faking religious zeal will win you a husband?”

“Dancing, Varric. And how my appalling lack of grace in the ballroom will fail to win me a husband.”

“Well now, that’s a surprise. You move around the battlefield well enough. Of course, you’re usually dancing behind Aveline or Fenris when your spells run out. But still, you have mastered the graceful retreat.”

“It doesn’t translate. And according to my mother, potential husbands are only interested in women who know their way around a dance floor.”

Isabela laughed, discarding part of her hand. “Nonsense. There is only one sort of dancing men care about, and it isn’t the type that’s accompanied by music.” The pirate smiled, glancing sidelong at the elf girl sitting at her side. “Though I had a lute player once, in Antiva. Liked to play for me while I sucked his cock.”

Merrill blinked owlishly, looking up from her cards. “Oh, but…wouldn’t that get awkward? I mean, you know…trying to play an instrument while…you…”

“Mmm, but it was worth it. Musicians, you know” Isabela snaked her arm around Merrill, tickling her shoulder and probably sneaking a peek at her cards. “Dexterous fingers.”

Varric laughed, laying out his hand. “Well, you should get Broody here to give you lessons, Hawke…”

Hawke stiffened, glancing from Varric to her companion sitting on the other side of the table. Fenris, mid sip, coughed and quickly set down his glass, almost sloshing wine on his gauntlet and the red scarf tied tightly around his wrist.

“…after all, he is our resident dance master. Flitting about his big empty house, choreographing routines.”

Hawke relaxed, forcing a smile. Varric wasn’t making an oblique reference to the awkward state of her and Fenris’…well, whatever it was. Just engaging in his normal banter. Or not. The dwarf was too clever by half sometimes. Hopefully her initial reaction to his suggestion would be overlooked. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose. Besides, when mother gets on about bringing in a dance master, I don’t think my reclusive elf friend with the big sword is quite what she has in mind.”

Isabela laughed, laying out her cards. “Big sword. That’s absolutely a necessity for a good dance. But I don’t need to tell you and Fenris that, hm?”

Merrill followed suit, carefully placing her cards in their pairs. “Oh, yes. I mean, I imagine…you are talking about something dirty, right? I mean, you usually are and…oh, I think I lost this hand.”

“Right on both counts, Kitten. But seriously, Hawke, you should introduce Fenris as your dance instructor. Give you all sorts of excuses to spend time alone together.”

Fenris stood abruptly, letting his cards scatter. “I’m done here.”

Varric leaned back in his chair. “Leaving so soon, Elf?”

He didn’t reply, slipping past the table and heading towards the door.

Hawke sighed, watching him leave. Putting her cards down in a neat pile and sliding her chair back, she stood to go as well. This was the last thing she needed. “Well, now you’ve made him grumpy.”

Isabela leaned over the table to gather her winnings. “Grumpier. He’s been in a mood lately. And where do you think you’re going?”

“Home. I can’t avoid Mother forever.” Hawke tossed some coins on the table, grimacing. “Besides, my escort back to Hightown just stormed out the door. I’ll see everyone tomorrow.”

* * *

It was easy enough to catch up to Fenris. Hawke suspected he had dawdled a bit, waiting to see if she would come. Though things had been incredibly awkward between them the past few weeks, they still made a habit of traveling back to Hightown together after late nights in the tavern.

He was watching her as she fell into step beside him, idly pulling at the scarf around his wrist. “What did you tell them?”

“All the steamy details. There were diagrams involved and everything. Isabela even took notes!”

Fenris’ silent glare met her declaration.

“Oh, give me some credit, Fenris. I didn’t tell them anything.”

Fenris scowled. “Well, they know something.”

“They suspect something. How could they not? Varric is too damn nosy and Isabela assumes everyone is sleeping together. And apparently you’ve been watching me with…how did Merrill put it?”

“Puppy eyes.”

“Yes, puppy eyes, whenever my back is turned. On top of that, we go from inseparable to barely speaking. Of course they’re going to wonder. To prod. Maker, I’m actually impressed with the level of restraint they’ve shown thus far.” Hawke sighed, shaking her head. There were things that had to be said, but this was neither the time nor place to say them. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean…”

Fenris gestured sharply with his hand, the motion part dismissal and part acknowledgement. “…you stopped coming over.”

Hawke pulled up short, confused. “I…what?”

“Reading lessons. You stopped coming over.”

She had been spending her mornings with Fenris, bringing breakfast and piles of writing supplies, guiding him in the shaping of letters and words. It had been fun, until it wasn’t. The first morning after he left, she had gone to his house as normal and they had spent an unhappy hour alternating between awkward silence and moody attempts to converse. She hadn’t made the trip since. “I…well, you made it clear you wanted some space.”

Fenris turned towards her. Something pained seemed to flash through his eyes before being replaced by the guarded expression he had worn since leaving her room. “If you do not wish to continue tutoring me, I would appreciate you saying as much.”

“No, Fenris…” This was too much. Was he really truly so dense? “I want to help you learn and am happy to resume our sessions. Is that what you want?”

Fenris nodded.

Hawke shook her head and started walking again, picking up her pace. “And we’ll just…let everything continue to be terribly awkward then? ‘Here, practice writing this phrase,’ ‘read this sentence,’ ‘be a dear, and refuse to discuss why you left me and why you insist on wearing my scarf …’” Her companion’s footsteps stopped, Hawke kept walking, resisting the urge to rub her forehead. “I want to help. I do. I want to be your friend and act like nothing ever happened, but I don’t know if you understand how difficult this is.”

Fenris started walking again, his pace measured. Hawke glanced back at him. He seemed intent on the cobblestones. Both continued on in silence until the front gate of her home came into sight.

“Hawke.”

Hawke turned. Fenris stood within arm’s length, his expression unreadable in the shadowed street. “I would like you to come by tomorrow.”

Several less than kind retorts sprang to mind, but Hawke forced them away. “Then I will see you tomorrow.”

* * *

The morning dawned crisp and cool, unusually so for Kirkwall. Hawke made her way to Fenris’ mansion, weighed down with books and parchment. It was surreal, resuming this little pilgrimage.

Hawke found Fenris in the main hall, holding a wooden practice sword and calmly swinging his way through a complex looking sequence. He seemed unaware of her presence, stopping and restarting the sequence a couple of times as she watched.

He was, she had to admit, fun to watch. Lithe and graceful and seemingly unaware of the effect he had on people around him. He was also, she noticed, still wearing her scarf.

A few more moments passed before she decided to interrupt. “Well, I see you have done well keeping up on your reading without me. You are tracing letters in the air with your blade, right?”

Fenris stopped, his lips quirking in a slight smile. “Something like that. Here.” He picked up a narrow pole, tossing it towards her.

Wholly unprepared, Hawke dropped her pack and barely manage to catch the thing. It felt similar in height and weight to her staff, though it was devoid of enchantments. She kept it in her hand as she bent down to right her pack and pick up the books that had fallen out. “In all seriousness, and I know it has been awhile, you do remember how this tutoring thing works, right?”

“Yes. I wanted to do something else first.”

“Mmhmm. Sparring? I think you have a bit of an advantage on me.”

Fenris gestured for her to come closer. “Stand here.”

It was useless, trying to puzzle out his intentions, especially this early in the day. Leaving her pack, Hawke walked over to the indicated spot.

Fenris moved slowly, taking her hands with the lightest touch and setting them on the staff. He wasn’t wearing his gauntlets. “You’ve done staff work before, right?”

Hawke nodded. “My father wanted to make sure my sister and I could defend ourselves without magic. Carver also loved to practice together. It was one of the few things he could do better than me.”

Fenris nodded, moving to stand next to Hawke and mimicking her stance, practice sword held before him. “Watch my feet, see if you can copy my movements.” He moved through a sequence, slow and sure.

Hawke followed his example, quirking a brow. “So it’s a fighting lesson. What, unconvinced by previous examples of my prowess?”

“Tired of abandoning sensible tactics to rush to your defense, maybe. Watch your left foot.”

Hawke chuckled, making the adjustment. “Oh, I only need you to rush in and save me fifty, sixty percent of the time.”

Fenris changed his sequence, motioning her to do the same. He had her start chaining the sequences together, turning different directions mid-step and offering mild corrections when necessary. It was an easy rhythm to find, exchanging observations with him as they practiced the forms, side by side.

Things were much simpler on the battlefield. Perhaps that was his plan, to bring some of that ease back into their interactions.

Fenris stopped her once she had the pattern memorized and had performed it without fault a couple times. Setting his sword aside, he stood in front of her. “Do you think you could do that distracted?”

Hawke grinned. “Of course. It’s not that difficult. Feels familiar, really.”

Fenris nodded. “Close your eyes. Walk through the sequence again.”

Hawke shut her eyes, adjusting her grip on the staff. She started the sequence, confident she knew what she was doing, only to find the staff torn away. Warm hands slipped into hers, taking the place of the smooth wood.

“Keep going.”

Carefully, one of her hands was guided to her companion’s shoulder. Fenris’ tunic was soft, a marked contrast to the taunt muscles it covered. Her other hand was held out to the side, its position not terribly dissimilar from the grip she had been practicing on the staff. Fenris’ other hand found her waist, applying gentle pressure when they reached a point in the sequence when she had to turn or change direction.

Hawke kept her eyes closed, her feet moving. At least now she knew why the sequence felt familiar. There had been a similar dance at the Viscount’s harvest festival. She had kept stepping on her partner’s toes while trying to change direction at the wrong time.

It was considerable more pleasant here, now, letting Fenris guide her with a sure hand. It was also the closest they had been since things went so terribly. The only time either of them had dared initiate physical contact.

The idea did occur to her that Fenris was being a tease. Playing some sort of game with her, to have left her so abruptly only to lure her here…like this…

But she knew him well enough to know that was not the case. Fenris was not the sort for games.

The sequence wound to a close. Hawke kept her eyes shut, not moving, gratified that Fenris seemed unwilling to move as well. She feared making any misstep that might end this moment. Even breathing seemed too daring.

Moments passed. She could feel the beat of his heart through their joined hands, accelerated beyond the physical demands of dancing. Finally, she could stand the silence no more. “You really do dance.”

A soft sigh, air moving against her cheek. She felt him lean closer. “The nobility here still dance the dances of the Imperium. They gave them new names, but the steps are the same. I spent plenty of dull hours at formal affairs with little else to do but watch the Magisters and their guests dance.”

“That explains how you know them, not why you wanted to help me learn.”

A touch, fleeting enough to almost be imagined, traced a line from her cheek to chin. “I know I owe you much, Hawke. Explanations I do not wholly trust myself to give and have to beg you not to seek. But I want…no, I need you to understand that I am here for you. In any capacity…”

“…except one?”

“Except one.”

Hawke opened her eyes. Fenris was staring at her, intently. His hands hadn’t moved. If anything, his grip on her side had tightened.

“I cannot claim to understand Fenris. But…I will respect your wishes. I won’t ask questions.”

“Thank…

“Oh! Except for one. The scarf. Why are you wearing still wearing it? Tell me that, and I will keep my mouth shut from here on out.”

Fenris frowned, looking at the innocuous piece of cloth. “It seemed a fitting way to mark my intentions. That even if I am not with you, I am yours. In so far as I will be anyone’s.”

“So it’s symbolic. My loyal knight’s chosen favor.”

Fenris shrugged slightly, the barest twitching of his shoulders. “If you wish to think of it that way.”

Hawke smiled, shaking her head. “You and Aveline ought to compare notes. Between marigolds and scarves and other such nonsense, you will surely craft the least intuitive system of nonverbal communication known to man.”

Fenris smiled, slightly.

Whatever this was, it was certainly preferable to the awkward avoidance of the past weeks. It seemed she would have to content herself with it. For now.

“Well. My loyal knight. And unexpected dance master. Shall we go through that one again?”

And so things fell back into a familiar rhythm. Morning lessons resumed, alternating between learning letters and learning dance forms. Hawke’s mother was delighted by her daughter’s new found confidence on the dance floor and subsequently baffled by her eventual refusal to continue using them. There was, Hawke finally insisted, no one at the fancy gatherings she cared to dance with.

Her friends inquired, obliquely in some cases, brazenly in others, about her and Fenris. Hawke remained mute on the subject, letting things lay.

For now.


End file.
